


No-one can unring this bell

by crookedcrown



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25898242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedcrown/pseuds/crookedcrown
Summary: AU - Nicky meets Booker's friend Joe
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Original Male Character
Comments: 310
Kudos: 817





	1. the meet-cute

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the alternate universe slow burn with a vague plot loosely stitched together nobody asked for (in which a group of barely functioning adults spend a lot of time hanging out together, despite them all definitely having day jobs).

Nicky wakes up from his nap to the smell of something delicious wafting into his room. He scrubs his face and shuffles into the bathroom. His reflection reveals there are still smudges of flour still on his face and, when he checks his hands, some trapped under his fingernails. The early mornings always catch up to him by the end of the week.

Andy and Quynh are in the kitchen. Quynh is making magic happen, while Andy trails after her, mostly getting in the way.

“Nicky,” Quynh pleads with her eyes when she sees him. She’s trying to gently shove Andy out of the kitchen. Quynh is strong but a stubborn Andy was truly the most immovable of objects.

Nodding, Nicky makes a beeline towards his bag, left by the door. “Andy, I have something for you.”

In a few long strides, Andy is squatting beside him watching him unzip his bag. He hands her a small white paper box. She opens it, peers inside, and nods. Happy with the bribe, she heads to the living room to enjoy her pastries in peace and so she doesn't have to share it.

“This is a lot of food,” he observes when he returns to the kitchen, a more welcomed presence.

“Booker’s coming over, and he’s bringing his friend Joe.” She glances up at him from the chopping board.

Ah, yes. Nicky vaguely remembered Booker talking about Joe the last time he had seen him. There had been a break-up and Joe was staying at Booker’s place for the time being. They had been best friends during their university days, but Joe had fallen hard for a teaching assistant in their last year. And then, a year after that, when they moved in together, just like that, Booker snapped his fingers, he was gone.

“You know those couples, who are so wrapped up in each other, it’s like no-one else exists.” He said, eyes sliding pointedly to the end of the table.

Nicky followed his gaze to where Quynh was sitting on Andy’s lap, feeding her grapes like she was a hedonistic empress.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, dryly.

Booker grinned at him.

There’s a half-hearted knock at the door, then, without waiting for a response, it’s opened with the confidence of someone who has visited many times.

“Sorry we’re late,” Booker starts to say, hefting an opened carton of beer to his chest.

“You're not.” Andy interjects from a distance, mouth still half full.

Booker looks surprised and looks over to his companion, who could only be Joe, closing the door behind them. Nicky suspects this is Joe’s doing as Booker has never been on time to anything in the years Nicky has known him.

“Joe wasn’t impressed with my gift of a half-full case of beer, so he made us stop at a liquor store on the way here.” Booker explains anyway.

Joe turns towards them, cradling three bottles of wine in one arm, and smiles.

Nicky tries not to stare, he really does. But Joe is a beautiful man and Nicky appreciates beautiful things. A mop of curly dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, warm brown eyes, and the gentle curve of a magnetic smile. And this is all from a short distance. Nicky doesn’t know if he can take all of this in within closer quarters.

Andy brushes past him to introduce herself, like an actual functioning adult. She thanks Joe for the wines. “I like you more already.”

Joe chuckles and Nicky immediately craves more. “I suspect the bar is very low.” His voice is soft but clear.

“Extremely,” Andy agrees.

Booker ignores them and hoofs it to the kitchen, where he greets Quynh with a one-armed hug.

Nicky is still just standing there.

There’s a pause and Andy turns to look pointedly at him, and that spurs him forward with an outstretched hand.

“Nicky,” Nicky says, a little breathless, despite only taking a handful of steps.

Joe’s smile hitches up a little higher, a little brighter and takes his hand. Up close he can see the slope of Joe’s high cheekbones, the gentle dip of dimples, the dark fan of his eyelashes, the softness in his eyes.

Nicky knows they’ve been holding hands for a little too long now. He senses Joe is not pulling away out of politeness. He can feel Andy peering at him, curious to see how this awkward introduction will continue to play out. But her pity seems to win out, or perhaps her patience has worn out, as she claps a hand on his shoulder. “Could you help set up the table, Nicky?” She says it a little more gently than she normally would. He nods quickly, grateful for the out.

“I can help you,” Joe offers when their hands drop apart.

“Nonsense,” Andy declares, wrapping an arm around his shoulders like they’re old friends. “You are our guest. Come, let us taste these wines.” She leads him to the bar cart as Nicky veers toward the kitchen.

Booker is showing a photo gallery of artwork he’s interested in purchasing on his phone to Quynh, wanting her opinion. She’s alternating between nodding her head and making dissenting murmurs.

All the required cutlery and dishware are already stacked neatly at the end of the counter. He doesn’t say anything to either of them. He heaves the pile up and immediately exits. Still, he feels the pair of them staring as he leaves.

He isn’t constantly looking over at Joe, as he arranges everything on the table. It’s just that it looks like Andy is telling a very interesting story, using broad hand gestures and conspiratorial whispering. His wine, Joe had kindly brought over to him earlier, sits untouched.

Finally, Quynh and Booker appear with dishes balanced precariously in their arms. He side steps out of the way and then helps them lay the plates out. 

Joe sits down next to Booker and directly opposite Nicky.

Nicky lets the conversation flow around him. Generally, he’s not a very talkative person and it seems like Joe is content to be more of an observer at this point. He doesn’t reveal much about himself and Booker seems to take that as a cue and doesn’t offer anything about their shared history either. Joe’s smiling politely, nodding at all the right points. Occasionally he’ll glance over at Nicky, who always just happens to be already looking back. The chatter is easy and familiar. Nicky cherishes these moments, good food with even better company.

All too soon, it seems, it ends.

Joe rises to help with collecting the dishes, while Quynh swats at his hands. Nicky stands to help instead when Joe steps back with his palms out in defeat. Booker’s arguing good-naturedly with Andy about _something_. One of many, many things they seem to disagree on. He sees Joe rest a hand on his shoulder and ask if he should order them an Uber now.

Nicky doesn’t hear his response because Quynh is urging him towards the kitchen with a series of increasingly aggressive hip checks.

“Keep an eye out on that one,” Quynh says when they’re by the sink. Nicky startles and wonders if she can read it so clearly on his face. But she’s not even looking at him as she turns on the taps. “Big buzz for his next gallery show.”

Nicky blinks. “He’s an artist?”

“Yes.” Quynh says, like it should be obvious. “Didn’t I tell you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “He had his first exhibition a couple of years back.” Nicky vaguely recalls Quynh raving about a bold new talent who had a fantastic eye for colour. Quynh was rarely impressed with debuts. Contemporary art isn’t really Nicky’s thing, so he generally just agrees with whatever she says and stays out of it. He senses she’s got a lot more to say about the matter, but he’s saved by Booker and Joe.

“Thank you for an incredible dinner, Quynh.” Joe steps forward and takes her hands, even though they’re sopping wet.

He turns to Nicky, and squeezes his shoulder. His hand is a little damp. It leaves a faint imprint on his shirt. “You’re leaving?” Nicky replies, for some reason dumbfounded with this turn of events.

“Gotta get Cinderella home before midnight, otherwise he turns into a pumpkin.” Booker says, pulling Quynh into a hug and kissing the top of her head.

Joe’s rolling his eyes but he doesn’t dispute it. He checks his phone. “Our ride is here.”

Booker salutes Nicky on their way out.

“Handsome, hm?” Quynh says, once the door closes behind them, waggling her eyebrows.

Before Nicky can splutter an answer, face already going a little red, Andy appears with a grim expression. She’s holding the wine bottles in her hands. “I hope you guys weren’t hoping for more wine because, um, there isn’t anymore.”

Quynh waves a hand toward Andy, distracted. She’s studying Nicky’s face with great interest. Nicky excuses himself. He doesn’t want to stick around for the follow-up questions.

He hears quiet murmuring in the kitchen as he heads to his bedroom.

* * *

The next time he sees Joe, it’s at a party he’s tagged along to. From the convoluted explanation of how Quynh knows the host, Nicky gleans Booker will also be there and, he guesses, _hopes_ , Joe will be, too. If either Quynh or Andy are curious as to why he’s decided to join them when, in the past, he’s turned them down more often than not, they choose to keep it to themselves.

Andy isn’t a fan of these types of gatherings either, but there are only two things Andy loves in this world: Quynh, and free liquor. And Quynh’s friends tend to have the best kind.

Once through the door, Quynh nods her blessing before she's enveloped by a crowd of very overdressed people. Andy and Nicky head to the bar.

He lingers by Andy, while she asks the bartender for the expensive stuff, scanning the room. He sees Booker and Joe smoking on one of the balconies. He taps Andy’s hand and points over her shoulder. She nods in response, but her attention has already returned to the different bottles being offered to her.

He’s a few steps in when he starts to second-guess himself. He’s only met Joe once and yes, he and Booker were friendly but they weren’t really _friends_ friends. He hesitates and considers going back to being Andy’s shadow, but Booker spots him and waves him over. 

Joe glances up when Nicky’s pushing open the balcony door. He smiles. “Want one?” He says in greeting, taking out his pack of cigarettes. Nicky shakes his head. “I’m generally only a social smoker,” Joe tells him, like he needs to explain himself to Nicky.

“Or when you’re feeling contemplative, melancholy, nostalgic...” Joe shoves Booker with his shoulder. Booker smirks into his drink.

Nicky falls into an easy conversation with the two of them, just like at the dinner. He’s a little surprised, if he’s honest with himself.

Someone from inside the house shouts for Booker.

Booker looks at Joe, who is already trying to shoo him away. “I don’t need you to babysit me,” he insists. “Besides, Nicky’s here now.”

“And you’d rather him babysit you instead?” Booker responds flatly. He stubs out his cigarette in the empty glass they were using as an ashtray.

“He would certainly be kinder to me. Right, Nicky?” Nicky pretends to think about it, and then shrugs. “See?” Joe continues, “already so much more considerate of my feelings.”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted.” Booker concedes.

“Only when it’s being told right to your face.”

Book feigns a shocked gasp but is already leaning over to hug Joe tightly. He presses a kiss under his ear. “I love you.”

It’s so startlingly intimate, Nicky finds himself closely examining a nearby plant.

“I know,” Joe says gently.

“Take care of him, Nicky.” Booker says to him very seriously, maintaining eye contact as he walks backwards into the room, until he nearly topples over a very unimpressed-looking woman.

Joe rolls his eyes fondly but then starts to laugh when he sees the look on Nicky’s face. “He’s not normally like that, but... He doesn’t know how to talk about feelings. Shocking, I know. So he tries to make up for it in other ways." He scrunches up his face. "I didn’t even want to come here tonight. But Booker’s going through a phase where he refuses to leave me alone.” He sighs, stares into the night. “He doesn’t think I know how to be alone.”

Nicky observes Joe's profile. There is a sorrow lingering in the corners of his face that weren't so obvious before. Nicky feels like he's seeing something he's not supposed to. A flash of a face hidden by a mask that's fallen slightly askew.

“Do you...do you want to talk about it?” Nicky offers tentatively.

Joe looks at him, surprised. He seems to contemplate it, then he shakes his head. “Not tonight. But thank you.” He reaches over to squeeze Nicky’s wrist. “I wasn’t wrong. You are kind.”

Nicky feels himself flush at the words. “It might be easier to talk to someone who isn’t so close to it.”

Joe nods. “Maybe.” He looks around like he’s just remembered where they are. “Do you want to get out of here? I’m starving, and this place doesn’t look like it has any real food.”

Nicky realises he’s starving, too. 

“I know a place, it’s close-by.”

While Joe is texting Booker their plans, Nicky is aware people are staring at them as they leave together. He reminds himself that Joe is an artist and this is very much an art crowd.

On their walk over, Nicky learns Joe’s family is originally from Tunisia. They emigrated when he was five years old. He is the youngest of three brothers, and he’s low-key their grandmother’s favourite. She nurtured his artistic spirit. The restaurant they’re going to is one Joe visits when he’s feeling homesick. His family live on the other side of the country. In turn, Nicky tells Joe about his parents and little sister. How alone he felt when he first moved over from Italy for his education. How he literally bumped into Andy and spilt her coffee everywhere (mostly on her shirt). He confesses that he thought he was going to get into his first ever physical fight and he was almost certain he would lose. Joe laughs and agrees.

The restaurant is crowded and the table they get doesn’t seem big enough for two adult men. Their knees are pressed up against each other. Nicky doesn’t mind. He looks at the menu, then asks Joe to order for the both of them. He orders so much food, the waiter brings an extra chair for the overflow.

By the end, Nicky is extremely full and a little sweaty. Joe looks like he just sat down.

“Do you eat this much _all the time?_ ” 

Joe grins at him. “I have a high metabolism. And I do a lot of kickboxing.” He adds like an afterthought as he waves down the waiter and requests for the cheque.

Of course you do, Nicky thinks grimly, cradling his belly.

He reaches for his wallet, but Joe holds out his hand. “I invited you, it’s my treat.”

“And be beholden to you for the rest of my life?” Nicky shakes his head. “A di Genova always pays his debts.”

Joe rolls his eyes. “OK, Lannister. How about this, you get the next one.”

Nicky’s heart skips a beat. There will be a next time. He doesn’t even pretend to mull it over, drops the bit completely. “Deal.”

Once they’re outside, with the cool evening breeze, Nicky feels a little less like he is about to burst at the seams. Joe holds the bag filled with the leftovers Nicky shamefully couldn't finish. 

“Did you enjoy the food?” Joe asks.

Nicky raises an eyebrow and gestures to himself. “I’m pretty sure if you shoved me over right now, I could roll my way home.”

Joe actually throws his head back in laughter. Nicky is delighted with himself. “Then here.” He presses the rest of the food into Nicky’s hands. 

“I can’t,” Nicky tries to protest. 

“I insist,” Joe says, still holding his hands. He brushes his thumb against Nicky’s knuckles. Nicky stills.

“OK,” he says, a little more subdued, very aware of where Joe is touching him. “Only because I know Andy will also love this,” he adds. He lifts his gaze from their hands to Joe’s face. Joe is already looking at him. Nicky wants to say more, but he’s not sure what. He wants to stay in this moment a little longer.

Joe let’s go of his hands to hail down a cab. “You need one, Nicky?”

He watches the car pull up to the curb. “Uh, yeah.” Nicky’s a little thrown with the abruptness of it all. Maybe Nicky had read it all wrong.

Joe opens the door for him.

“Goodnight,” Joe says softly when Nicky gets in.

Nicky repeats the farewell. Joe lets Nicky close the door himself.

He stares out the window at Joe, who waves, until the cab turns and Joe disappears from view.

The cab driver has to prompt him for his address.


	2. The emotional hurdle

Nicky checks his phone as he leaves work. There’s a message from Quynh saying they're at the park and that he should come IMMEDIATELY. Nicky’s tired and he’s kind of looking forward to chilling out in an empty house. He texts her the snoring emoji because Nicky is a man of a few words.

He’s kicking his shoes off at the door when he gets another text. It’s a short video.

It’s Joe. He’s shirtless and sweaty. He glows in the sunlight. Just in case it wasn’t already clear to the audience, this man is the hero of the story. He’s wearing a stupid baseball cap backwards and, on paper, it really shouldn’t be doing it for Nicky. But his curls are peeking out from the front, and it’s _really_ doing it for Nicky. Joe waves when he sees himself being filmed. Quynh hands him a bottle of water. He gulps down a couple of mouthfuls, then squirts the rest onto his face because of course he does. Nicky wonders if Quynh’s added some sort of video effect so it looks like it’s all happening in slow motion, or if it’s just his brain slowly melting out of his ears.

 _Be there in 15_ , he types with a little more force than necessary. He has a shower.

Quynh peers at him from the top of her oversized sunglasses when he joins her on the picnic blanket. “You took your time.”

He shushes her and turns his attention to the field.

Joe’s wearing a shirt now. Nicky tries not to feel disappointed. He’s juggling the ball with his feet. It looks like Booker’s trying to win it back, but he can’t match the fancy footwork, so he tackles Joe in frustration. Nicky sympathises strongly with Booker here. He also has the urge to tackle Joe to the ground.

“Foul!” Joe shouts from under Booker. Nicky can’t tell who the referee is until Andy stomps into view, hands on her hips. She swivels her head around like an owl.

“I didn’t see anything in that.” She says.

Joe flips her off. She blows her whistle and points at him. “Unsportsmanlike behaviour. You’re in sin bin, Al-Kaysani.”

Oh, Nicky thinks, they’re just making up rules here.

Joe squawks in outrage, but trudges in the direction of Andy’s finger. He lights up when he sees Nicky. “I’m glad you’re here.” Nicky perks up. “Ever since Quynh faked an injury and made Andy carry her off, we’ve been stuck on odd numbers.” Nicky wilts slightly.

“It’s my Achilles,” Quynh insists.

Joe crosses his arms. “Show me where your Achilles is.”

Quynh considers this carefully and starts to point to her elbow.

“Heel.” Nicky mutters, “It’s called the Achilles _heel._ ”

Quynh keeps moving her finger, like she had meant to take the long way via her arm, until it’s pointed vaguely at her foot.

“Come on, Nicky.” Joe’s pulling him to his feet. “You can be on Booker’s team. He needs all the help he can get.”

“I haven’t played since I was a kid,” Nicky protests, but lets Joe drag him forward.

Quynh smacks him on the butt. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

Football is handsier than Nicky remembers, going by how Joe’s crowded into his space. His chest against Nicky’s back. His hands sliding up and down Nicky’s sides. It’s incredibly distracting and almost certainly illegal.

“Inappropriate touching!” Booker shouts as he runs past. Joe and Nicky have been jostling in the same spot for over a minute now.

Andy looks at them. “I’ll allow it.”

She eventually calls a penalty when Joe brings Nicky down in a much gentler version of what happened with him and Booker earlier.

Nicky gets the first goal of his adult life. For some reason (Andy), Joe is also the goalie. Nicky does a run up and in the last second, in a bold and controversial move to be debated on for years to come, he lifts his shirt and flashes his nipples at Joe. With him suitably distracted, Nicky slots the ball into the net.

It’s declared the game winner because Andy is bored now.

Despite being on opposing teams, Joe celebrates with him. He leaps into Joe’s open arms, wrapping his legs tightly around his waist. Joe momentarily staggers under the sudden extra weight, but recovers quickly. Nicky throws his arms up in victory, feeling giddy and light-headed. He looks down at Joe, who, in turn, is staring up at him. Eyes bright, smile dazzling. Nicky feels like he’s won the World Cup. He feels like he’s on top of the world.  
  


* * *

  
“And that is a salad-cheek-basket pine,” Joe states matter-of-factly, pointing at the tree at the far end of the garden. He pauses, and then whispers from the side of his mouth. “I’m making all of this up.”

Nicky is lying down with a cushion under his head, eyes closed. Joe is propped up on an elbow beside him. They’re having a welcome back party for Nile, even though she was only gone for three months exploring the world. She made Nicky an Instagram account specifically so he could keep up-to-date on all her adventures. Every day he had dutifully gone through the feed and liked all her posts.

Now he and Joe are sprawled out on blankets in the backyard, full and sleepy.

“I know.” He cracks open one eyelid. He had stopped paying attention a while ago. But had enjoyed the gentle cadence of Joe’s voice by his ear. His eyelid slides shut. “You don’t know anything about plants.”

“I’m smart in other ways,” Joe tells him.

“Such as?” A long silence follows and when Nicky opens his eyes, he sees Joe gazing down at him. “Well?” 

“I’m still thinking.” 

Nicky snorts.“Well, at least you’re handsome.”

“Oh? You think I’m handsome.” Joe dips his head, and bats his eyes. It’s actually pretty effective.

“Just a little.” Nicky holds his forefinger and thumb an inch apart to demonstrate. Joe examines the distance between the fingertips critically.

“I need a better understanding of the scale here. Out of 10?”

“Hmm.” Nicky drawls out. “6. Maybe a 6.5, on a good day.”

“6.5?” Joe grumbles. He surveys the garden for back-up and picks the easiest target. “Babe!” He shouts. “Am I a 6.5 out of 10?”

“You’re a 10 to me, babe.” Booker replies loyally, not looking up from his phone.

It had taken Nicky a while to discover it was a nickname they had given each other when they were at uni. Somehow everyone had thought they were secretly fucking in their early days (Booker is a handsy drunk, Joe said). But the years had worn off most of the _edgy_ teenage irony and now it was used like any term of affection between two friends who have seen the best and the worst in each other.

Triumphant, Joe turns back to Nicky. “Booker says I’m a 10.” He needlessly repeats.

Nicky scoffs. “Booker has terrible taste.”

“How dare you!” Joe pushes onto his knees to stare down at Nicky. “That’s my best friend’s questionable taste you’re besmirching. He doesn’t bother to turn around to announce, “I’m defending your honour, Book!”

“Thanks, babe.”

“He wants your head on a platter.” Joe says with a sigh, like he’s already filled with regret by what is to come.

Nicky rolls his eyes. “You know I can hear him, right?”

“Don’t try to distract me with your charm!” Joe lifts both his hands up, fingers curled in the universal sign for death by laughter. The intent is clear on his face.

Nicky holds up a hand in warning. “Don’t you dare.”

“Nicky,” a wicked grin spreads slowly across his face, “are you ticklish?”

And really, there’s no good answer to that.

Joe has the initial advantage, but Nicky quickly curls up into a ball, rocking from side to side like a tortoise flipped over onto its back.

“Don’t make me turn the hose on you two,” Andy warns them, snatching away anything breakable within limb-flailing range.

“I yield.” Nicky’s voice is muffled by his arms wrapped over his head. “I yield!” He repeats louder. Joe withdraws his hands.

“Victory!” Joe declares. He plants himself over Nicky like a table. “And my spoils of war?”

The pendant on Joe’s necklace is swinging back and forth, gently smacking Nicky’s nose. Nicky grabs it with one hand, while the other splays across Joe’s chest. Warmth radiates off him in waves.

“What do you want?” Nicky still hasn’t quite caught his breath back.

“I want...” Joe’s eyes drag from Nicky’s face down the entire length of his body. The gaze is filled with such weight, it feels like Joe’s hands are on him again. “..a kiss” 

Nicky’s eyes widen briefly as Joe leans forward and blows a wet raspberry against Nicky’s forehead.

“Joe!” Nicky shoves him and Joe goes down easily, rolling onto his back.

“You’re the worst,” Nicky says, sitting up and wiping the spittle from his face.

Joe waggles a finger at him. “Uh, uh, uh. I’m a 6.5, remember?”

Nicky hears the bright burst of Niles' laughter. He turns his head to search for her. She’s standing on the deck, clutching a mug of something too sweet, looking very smug for some reason. She tilts her head toward the house, so he gets up to follow her.

“Can you bring me back a chai?” Joe calls after him and makes a wounded sound when Nicky responds with a rude gesture. “Babe?” He hears Joe say hopefully.

“I’m not getting you a chai either.”

Nicky slides the door shut behind them.

“What’s with the face?” He asks tucking her under his arm, and presses a kiss on the top of her head.

“You and Joe, huh?”

It turns out Nile is also a big fan of Joe’s early work. She had used words like ‘explosive’ and ‘vibrant’, and wiggled her hands and eyebrows meaningfully, like that was supposed to mean anything to Nicky.

Joe had matched Nile’s enthusiasm when they were introduced and they spent over an hour talking about all the museums and galleries they had both visited.

“Me and Joe what?" She elbows him, somewhat gently. She is as no-nonsense as they come. He shakes his head. “We’re just friends, Nile.”

She scoffs, actually scoffs at him. “Oh, come on. You guys were like two steps away from straight up fucking on the grass.” She takes a long, satisfied slurp from her mug.

Nicky is impressed with the severity of that take-down. But suspects she may have spent some time rehearsing it in her head. He glances over their shoulders. Booker and Quynh are playing Go. Joe is hovering over Booker’s shoulder presumably offering unsolicited advice. Judging by all the pointing and the steadfast way Booker is ignoring him.

He steers Nile into the kitchen. She hops up to sit on the counter, while Nicky keeps his hands busy by making a coffee.

“It’s not like that.” He finally says.

“Let me guess,” Nile observes dryly, “it’s complicated.”

“It’s actually not that complicated.” He doesn’t know why he says it like that’s a point in his corner. The look she gives him seems to agree. “He’s just come out of a long-term relationship.”

“How long-term?”

Nicky isn’t sure. But he knows it was long. “I think 6, 7 years?”

Nile lets out a low whistle. “That’s a whole lot of history to move on from.”

Nicky hums in agreement as they fall into a companionable silence, until Nile perks up and reaches for her phone. “Do you know his name?”

He frowns at her. “Are you going to stalk him on social media?”

“ _Obviously_.” She waves her phone. “You’re not curious? Not even just to see what he looks like?”

He hadn’t been. Hadn’t thought about it all. But maybe... He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. He thinks it’ll keep him up at night to know the exact shape of the hole in Joe’s heart. “I would rather not know.”

“You don’t know his name, do you?”

That, too.

“Maybe,” she muses, “it’s on Joe’s Wikipedia page.”

“Nile, I can’t believe I have to say these words out loud to you.” He traps her face between his hands and looks her in the eye. “Please do not look up Joe’s ex online.” She rolls her eyes. He squishes her cheeks until her lips pout out like a fish. “ _Nile_.”

“OK, OK!” She smacks his hands away. “You have the dating game of a grandpa.”

“Thank you.” She rolls her eyes. Nicky would take it as a compliment, with his endless supply of oversized sweaters and slippers because his feet get cold in the winter. She could imagine him scratching out love letters with a quill.

She doesn't have a lot of long-term dating experience to dig into, but she knows a dude still not over his ex was a huge red flag, like blaring red lights, like clear the building and evacuate the area immediately. This is definitely a no-go zone. And Nicky, once you get past his stoic demeanour, is a gentle soul with the kindest heart. She’s a little worried.

But she had also seen the way Joe had looked at Nicky when he thought no-one else was paying attention.

She would never admit it out loud, especially not to anyone in this house, but, deep down, Nile is a romantic.


	3. Enter, stage left, the ex

You’re stepping into the bar, the door barely swinging shut, when you see him. You could recognise the line of that neck, the shape of those shoulders, the looping hand gestures anywhere. You’re walking towards him before you even realise, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even when you no longer have the right to. Because Joe is not yours anymore. 

You stop short when you see who he is talking to, who he is so enraptured by. The man is beautiful. Dark hair and light eyes. His face is tilted towards Joe, like a flower to the sun. You recognise the look on his face. It’s like staring at a reflection of a younger version of you. It’s how you had looked at Joe, when you were falling in love.

He notices you first. Curious as to who you are and why you’re there.

Joe follows his gaze like breadcrumbs leading back to you. Those eyes pin you in place.

And it's only hearing your name from his lips are you shocked back to life.

“I’m sorry,” you say. It was stupid of you to come here. You step back. “I’m sorry.”

You push your way back through the crowd, your eyes stinging. You had ended it, but it had felt like a suckerpunch to the gut to see Joe with someone else, to see Joe happy without you.

You hear a shout for Joe to come back. A small, dark part of you is glad of it, to know that Joe would still follow you. You don’t like this about yourself. It festers when you are alone, late at night.

There’s a hand on your elbow. You squeeze your eyes shut, and hope Joe doesn’t see the shine in them, before you turn around.

He just looks at you, eyes darting across your face, like he’s trying to memorise you all over again.

“Why did you come over?” He finally asks and there’s a flash of something hopeful in his eyes.

You are angry at yourself. You didn’t even consider what this might mean to Joe.

And yet, you still say, “because I saw you.” It’s simple as that, isn't it? As simple as it’ll ever be. You try to pull your arm back, but he won’t let go. “Go back to your friends, Joe.” 

His grip tightens for a moment. “You don’t get to tell me to leave,” he’s upset, you can hear the tremor in his voice, “when you’re the one who walked over to me.”

He’s right.

“I made a mistake,” You say as evenly as you can.

He yanks his hand back. “And that’s just so unlike you, isn't?” He means for it to be hurtful, and it is.

People are looking. You can see Booker hovering just over Joe’s shoulder, waiting to intervene if needed. He’s a good friend.

“Joe, please. Please, go.” You say in Spanish. You are fighting dirty now, you know you are. Joe learned your mother tongue for you. You default to it when your emotions are heightened in anger, in passion, in grief. He had wanted to know all the layers of you. Because that’s how Joe loved, all encompassing. And if you weren’t strong enough to stand it, bear it in all its glory, you felt like you did not deserve it, and it would destroy you.

The last time you saw Joe, Booker had his arm around Joe’s waist. He had to physically drag him away from you, out of your home, out of your life.

 _Why?_ Joe kept asking over and over again. Even though you had told him. He didn’t believe you, he didn’t understand. But maybe he understands now, you think bitterly. You think of the man with the light eyes. Their hands tangled together on the table.

He was so young when you first met. A man barely into his 20s. You were older, you should have known better. But his heart was enormous, his eyes held such depth, his intelligence and wit were sharp enough to draw blood, and his smile had cut to the wick of you, had it not?

You’re both different people now and you both want different things, even if Joe would never admit it. Joe loved you, had chosen you, was loyal to a fault. He would never leave you, even if it suffocated him.

And now you’re the one who has to leave him all over again, aren’t you? Because you couldn’t keep it together long enough to walk across a room. Drawn back into the collapsing star of your relationship.

Joe is looking at you with those eyes, the same eyes that had promised forever.

“Do you still love me?” He asks in Spanish.

You falter. You hope he doesn’t see the crack in your facade. It would be easier to lie. “Of course.” But you can’t lie to Joe. He has only ever deserved the truth.

“Then don’t do this.” It’s the same exchange, with different words, volume turned low. The last gasps of a fire before it burns out.

“It’s because I love you.” He flinches, shifts back. No, he still doesn’t understand.

You nod to Booker. He steps forward and takes Joe’s hand.

“I’m here,” he says gently.

Joe stares back at you, Booker’s hand anchoring him to the spot.

You touch your hand to your chest, rest it over your heart. You hope this is how he remembers you. Then you leave him, all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My experimentation with second person POV was partially inspired by this excellent fic [The Death of You by ViridianPanther](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650604/chapters/62269939). If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend it.
> 
> If anyone needs a visual aid of how I envisioned Joe’s ex, imagine someone who looks very similar to the beautiful, the handsome, the talented [ Oscar Isaac](https://images.app.goo.gl/UgQWUGkRJGD8QfQV9). Let’s just say I saw a lot of gifs from the movie ‘The Promise’. There was the looking and the touching and the height difference - it was all very aesthetically pleasing to me. Am I also a little bitter that Oscar Isaac could have also been one half of an iconic canon gay couple? Haha, nope! Not at all.


	4. Consequences and casualties

They pay the fare upfront, plus a hefty tip, in order to convince the taxi driver to accept all five of them at once. Booker smartly takes the passenger seat, while the rest of them squeeze into the back. Nicky ends up mostly on Joe’s lap because Andy’s draped over Quynh, taking more space than she actually needs, and promptly falls asleep. He knows he could jab her with his elbow to free up a few extra inches, but he likes being pressed up against Joe like this. Likes feeling the hard planes of his chest, the warmth of his skin, even the reek of alcohol on his breath and sweating out of his pores.

Joe is silent. Had barely said a handful of words when he had returned with Booker’s arms around his shoulders, covering him like a shield. They did shots at the bar until Quynh convinced Booker and, by extension, Joe to have a last round back at their place. So here they are, squished together like sardines.

Nicky watches Joe as he stares out the window. The city lights cascade across his face, alternating between highlighting his brow and cheekbones, and then dropping everything in shadow.

Joe’s thumb is grazing the exposed skin on the small of Nicky’s back from where his shirt has rucked up. It’s too measured to be anything but deliberate. Nicky feels heat pooling in his stomach. He touches Joe’s cheek, and when he turns to face him, Nicky’s fingers skate over his bottom lip. Joe’s tongue darts out to lick his fingertips. Nicky inhales sharply and presses down harder. 

Joe’s gaze cuts to him, eyes heavy, Nicky’s fingers on his mouth, spit shining on his lips.

Nicky is breathing so loud, it’s the only thing he can hear.

Then Joe’s hand is clamping down on Nicky’s hip, as the other slides into his hair and pulls tightly. Their faces come together, noses bumping, teeth catching on skin. They’re sharing wet, ragged breaths. Shifting desperately until finally, finally their lips slot together.

Nicky’s coaxing Joe’s tongue into his mouth when he’s suddenly compelled to open his eyes. He remembers the look on Joe’s face at the bar, how he had followed his ex without hesitation. How Booker had shouted after him, and then had to be the one to retrieve him. Staring at Joe’s eyelids, in this painful moment, a growing ache in his chest, Nicky wanders who Joe is even thinking of.

He pulls back, Joe leans forward. Nicky spreads his hands across Joe’s shoulders to pin him down. “No,” Nicky whispers. “Not like this.”

Joe looks at him, brow furrowed. Slowly, Nicky watches the guilt filter through his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t--.” Nicky presses a thumb to his lips, slick and swollen. It’s not an apology he seeks. 

Joe tips his head back, eyes falling shut. It is now Nicky is greeted with the tense silence that has enveloped the space. He can’t even hear Andy’s gentle snoring anymore.

Booker and Joe linger by the taxi, exchanging meaningful looks. Booker is the one who clears his throat and says, “We’re going to head home from here.” He smiles apologetically. Joe’s back in the car. Nicky tries not to take it personally, as he watches Booker climb into the backseat with him. Nicky watches the car pull away. He had hoped they would have more time to talk.

Andy drapes an arm around his shoulders as Quynh hugs him close. “Come on, kid,” she says gently, “help me put this old woman to bed.”  
  


* * *

  
Nicky’s on his knees in a pile of dirt, sweating under the sun, and yanking out shrivelled plants

Quynh and Andy have been taking turns to keep him distracted. They haven’t said so but they're also making no effort to hide it. Today, Andy has ambitious plans to turn a portion of the backyard into a vegetable patch. This is Nicky’s least favourite form of distraction, by far. At least, Quynh had taken them to get massages. 

He knows he has been a little moody, quicker to snap. He knows Andy doesn’t deserve it, so he settles on being really annoying.

“Is this a weed?”

“Yes, Nicky.”

“And this one?”

“Yes.”

“And that one?”

“ _Nicky._ ”

Andy sends him back to the house to retrieve water and snacks once she realises he’s only going to be marginally more helpful than Quynh would have been.

He slows his footsteps when he overhears Quynh and Nile talking about Joe in the kitchen. It’s not secretive, per se. But they have all been careful in what they’ve been saying around him. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should. He hasn’t seen or heard from Joe in over a week.

He does get the sporadic text from Booker. It’s never anything that requires a response - a subpar croissant he ate and needs to complain about, a picture of a cat that he thinks looks like Andy when she’s grumpy. Once it was an out-of-focus photo of Joe’s sleeping face. It helps.

He hovers behind the wall that separates the dining room and the kitchen, and he listens.

Joe’s much anticipated second show has been pushed back indefinitely. His manager had to physically intervene to stop Joe from trashing the work he had already completed. A local art critic gets publicly shamed on Twitter for calling Joe dramatic and unprofessional.

Nicky unlocks his phone and does the same thing he has done every day in the last week. He opens his text history with Joe. The last message is from Nicky, two days after that night. _are you okay?_ No response. Nicky closes the app, and sighs.

He makes an effort to be a little noisier as he enters the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zq3jA4FteT5Wv0U7KLPVG?si=21NldxagRbi1JVy-yu8HyQ) to go with the fic, dbakeiro kindly put together after we squee'd in the comments together.


	5. The bounce back

Nicky’s wiping down his bench when his boss’s head pops into view. He arches an eyebrow at her when she asks him to come out to the front. She points towards the big glass windows facing out onto the street. Joe is leaning on a signpost and smoking a cigarette, dressed like an extra from _Grease_.

“Do you know this brooding gentleman?” She asks. When he nods, she continues, “and is he here for you?”

“I’m not sure,” he says slowly.

“He’s been standing there for the last 20 minutes.” Nicky doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. “It’s been very distracting,” she adds pointedly and tilts her head. Nicky sees his colleagues bunched up at the counter, peering at the window and giggling to each other. “Look,” she continues, since Nicky isn’t carrying his half of the conversation, “I’ll finish up here. You go deal with...whatever this is.”

She waves him off when he thanks her. He retrieves his bag and the box of eclairs he had been saving for Andy. She’ll understand.

Joe stubs out his cigarette when he sees Nicky exit the bakery.

“Are you stalking me, Al-Kasayni?” He swings his bag onto one shoulder. Deftly avoiding the huge, metaphorical elephant glaring at them.

Joe looks almost grateful. “Do you know how many bakeries I’ve loitered in front of today?” He spreads his arms wide for emphasis. “There are so many in this city.”

Nicky takes a moment to drink Joe in. It has been too long and Nicky is parched. “Booker tell you?” he asks, even though he already knows. He’s buying time.

“Booker told me.” Joe shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Nicky shrugs. He takes a couple of careful steps closer. “You never asked.”

Joe nods, not quite looking at Nicky. “That’s fair. I am very self-involved. This has been told to me on many occasions.”

Nicky wants to hug him. But from here he can see the tightness in his shoulders, the tired lines around his eyes, how Joe hadn’t met him halfway like he normally would have. “Come on,” he says instead. “I’ve been left out early because my boss wants me to get rid of you. She says you’re distracting.”

Joe looks back at the bakery. “Well, then you’re welcome.” He waves at their captivated audience. Nicky steers him away with a light touch on his elbow, before Joe can embarrass him any further.

They walk in a tentative silence. Nicky leads them to the pier. They might have to fight off some seagulls at some point, but looking out onto the horizon and listening to the gentle lapping of water always calms Nicky. When they’ve settled on a bench, Nicky presents the eclairs to Joe.

“This is really good.” He says, with his mouth full.

Nicky smiles, then turns to face the water.

He feels Joe fidget beside him. “I came here to apologise,” Joe starts to say.

“For what?”

“For what?” Joe repeats, incredulous. He continues when he realises Nicky is sincere in his question. “Where do I begin?” Joe pauses as if he honestly doesn't know where to begin. “I know,” he says, quietly, “I know I’ve been sending mixed signals. And that’s very unfair to you." He pauses. "I kiss you, and then I leave without a word. I avoid you for weeks like a coward.”

“I was hurt,” Nicky admits. “But I was never upset with you.”

Joe let’s out a shuddering sigh. “That's so much worse.”

“I don't need an apology from you. But I can accept one if it'll make you feel better.”

" _Nicky,_ that's not..." Joe chuckles sadly. “This is not how I imagined it would go.”

“How did you imagine it?”

Joe considers his words. “I beg for your forgiveness. You are truly magnanimous in accepting it.” Hesitantly, he adds, “and we would continue to be friends.”

Nicky stares at his hands, balled tightly into fists. “Is that what you want, Joe? To be friends?”

“I understand", he says, wistfully, "if you don’t want to be.”

Nicky inhales and exhales slowly through his nose. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Joe bows forward, head in his hands. “I wasn’t expecting someone like you. I wasn’t ready for someone like you.” He takes a long breath. “I’m still not ready.” He peeks at Nicky, between his fingers. “And yet, I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

Nicky is silent. He imagines his life without the warmth of Joe’s presence, the light of his laughter, the sparkle of his eyes. He makes the conscious effort to unfurl his hands and stares at his palms.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Nicky. With everything that has happened. That is my greatest regret.”

Nicky remembers Joe shifting beneath him, breath ragged, eyes dark. Nicky wants, he wants, he wants.

“What would you have done differently? If you could do it all again.” Now it is Joe who is silent. “Would you have still invited me to share dinner with you?" Nicky gently prompts.

Joe rubs his hands against his thighs. “I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing.” Nicky says. He feels Joe’s eyes snap towards him. “And for that, I am also sorry.” Joe's eyebrows arch up, surprised. “I knew from the start that you were going through a lot of pain, that you were nursing a broken heart. But still I sought you out. Craving your touch, your smile, your eyes on me. I suppose, you could say, I can’t stay away from you either.”

The silence that follows is softer than its predecessors. “Well, aren’t we a pair?” Joe says with a rueful smile.

He lets Joe have another eclair, which Joe insists on sharing. He tells Nicky to save the rest for Andy as he pinches the pastry, and squirts cream all over his hands. Nicky watches Joe lick off what he can before he offers him the napkins he had shoved into his pocket before he left the bakery.

They’re walking together, side by side, shoulders not quite touching. They are headed vaguely in the direction of Nicky’s home. His legs are on autopilot and Joe, falling in step, seems content to follow.

“He’s...” Joe says like he has just recalled something important. Then hesitates, seemingly regretful for breaking the peace for what he is about to say. Unsure if Nicky will welcome it. Nicky, wanting to help bear some of the weight on Joe’s shoulders, nods in encouragement. “He’s moving away. Out of the city.”

Nicky wonders if Joe shares this in the hope it'll bring Nicky some solace. It does. He is only somewhat surprised by the news. He imagines how hard it must be to stay in a place soaked with memories. “Where is he going?”

“I don’t know." Joe shrugs. "It doesn’t matter.”

“He told you this?”

“He told Booker.” Joe shoves his hands into his pockets. “Because apparently I can’t be trusted to behave myself,” he mutters, darkly. He falls silent for a moment, then shakes his head as if to rid himself of whatever memory he’s fallen into. 

Nicky reads into what Joe isn’t saying. “And you? Do you want to leave, too?”

A stretched silence has Nicky holding his breath. “I have thought about it,” Joe confesses. His eyes flick over to Nicky. “But I have good reason to stay.”

Nicky exhales and offers a small smile in return. “I’m glad.”

They’re turning into the driveway, when Nicky says, “I am a patient man, Joe.” He let’s the weight of that sink in.

Joe’s feet stutter to a stop. And when Nicky turns to look at him, his face is awed, but his eyes look sad.

“Nicky, no.” He’s shaking his head. “I’m not asking you to wait for me.”

“You’re not asking me anything. I’m telling you.” Nicky is a serious man. This has been told to him on many occasions. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Joe's eyes are shining in the afternoon light. “You are...” He reaches out, stops just short of taking Nicky’s hand, so Nicky takes his instead. Joe lifts it to his mouth and presses a careful kiss on each knuckle. And it seems, for once, Joe does not have the words.

So the timing isn’t right. Things might have turned out very differently if Nicky and Joe had met much sooner, or even a little later. But Nicky has found Joe now and he isn’t going to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zq3jA4FteT5Wv0U7KLPVG?si=21NldxagRbi1JVy-yu8HyQ) to go with the fic, dbakeiro kindly put together after we squee'd in the comments together.


	6. The final frame

It’s just shy of 16 months from the original date, but early reviews have come out and they say it was well worth the wait. Nicky doesn’t go to the official opening night. He knows Joe will have his hands full with the media, critics, Quynh _and_ Nile.

He and Andy visit on the fourth night. There’s still a lot of people milling about. Some to look at the art, some to gawk at the artist who had been so elusive in the lead up.

Nicky sees Joe as soon as he enters the gallery. He is surrounded, as Nicky had predicted. Joe is nodding along politely. He mostly looks bored, only making some effort to conceal it. But then he zeroes in on Nicky, and he winks.

The moment is interrupted when Andy grabs Nicky by the shoulders and shoves him forward. “I don’t have time for this,” she says. Nicky casts one last glance over his shoulder at Joe as Andy prods him with sharp fingers and pointy elbows, urging him towards the paintings.

Nicky has never seen Joe’s art. He had considered looking it up online, but talked himself out of it. He wanted the first time to be in person. He doesn’t know what to expect. 

The paintings are huge. Taller than Nicky, almost just as wide. He wonders how they were moved into the building.

The colours are deep blues, greys and blacks, swirled together, layered thickly on top of each other. It feels chaotic. It feels overwhelming. It feels deeply sad. Nicky takes a moment to admire Joe, his fearlessness in sharing something that feels so intensely personal, so achingly vulnerable to the world.

He takes it all in, with a pang in his heart, of all the things Joe wasn’t able to ever express in words.

He leans in closer. He has the very strong urge to touch the paint, feel the texture against his fingertips. His eyes slide to the nearby attendant, who is already frowning at him. Like she’s able to spot a troublemaker from a mile away and Nicky has a big, fat X scrawled across his forehead. He smiles at her and takes several deliberate steps backwards.

He moves onto the next piece. 

Andy’s already standing there, bent at the waist, staring intently. 

He’s just close enough to hear her mutter to herself, “I see it.”

Curious, Nicky crouches beside her. Like him, Andy wasn’t big into contemporary art. She thinks most modern art is gaudy and pretentious. But even she seems impressed. 

A new colour has been introduced. It’s an icy blue-green, maybe also a bit of silver. Nicky doesn’t have an artist’s eye. He doesn’t know how else to describe it. It starts small, in the bottom corner, curled in on itself.

“See what?”

Andy just smirks at him. “Just thinking about something Quynh said.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

She bops him on the nose and moves on ahead. Nicky lingers, impressed with how Joe has made this colour feel tender and inviting. He has avoided all the traditional colours that evoke fire and yet it feels like a guiding light, warming up the darkness. And somehow it feels so familiar to Nicky.

As he moves along, he sees the colour start to grow within each canvas, unfurling like a flower, reaching up towards the sky.

Nicky doesn’t know why, but his heart is thudding inside his chest.

The final piece is Nicky’s favourite. The colour crackles as it arches across the entirety of the canvas. A lightning bolt in a storm. An explosion. Defiant. It’s beautiful.

He overhears an attendant telling an enquiring couple this painting isn’t for sale. This feels important to Nicky. No-one should own this.

“What do you think?” A voice murmurs against his ear. Nicky startles. But he recognises the voice almost immediately and his body relaxes.

He turns to Joe. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to ask.”

“Nicky,” he admonishes gently. “You are the only person.” Nicky flushes at the words, a mixture of pride, embarrassment, happiness. Joe is the only person who can make him feel this way.

Nicky wants to pull Joe close, wants to hold him and be held. He wants to cradle Joe’s face in his hands, wants to press his lips against the pulse point under his jaw. He wants to tell Joe how proud he is of him, how in awe he is of his talent, how much he loves him.

But this is not the place, this is not the time.

Instead, Nicky turns back to the painting in an effort to stem the temptation. “What is this one called?” He had noticed there wasn’t an accompanying title card, like the others had.

“Do you like it?”

He knows Joe is still looking at him. “Very much.”

Joe switches his glass to his left hand, drops his right hand to hang between them. Their knuckles brush together. Once, twice. Joe intertwines their fingers.

He says, “ _A New Beginning_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me through this v self-indulgent fic. :) All the lovely and encouraging comments have meant so much to me. An epilogue is incoming. <3


	7. Epilogue: A New Beginning

“Hey, Nicky. Your boyfriend is outside.”

Nicky bites back the retort of _he’s not my boyfriend._

Ever since the show, Andy and Quynh have been unbearable with their looking and snickering, and constant casual questions about Joe. He didn’t even live with Nile, but she still made her presence felt by constantly sending him pictures of elderly couples holding hands, or gifs of puppies snuggled together, with the caption: dis u & joe?? It turns out Booker is the only decent person Nicky knows, carrying on as normal.

Nicky recognises how tremendously unfair it would be to take all that out on a work colleague. So he doesn’t say anything at all.

But when he sees Joe holding a bouquet of flowers dressed in a crisp, white collared shirt and dark navy slacks, he thinks, dimly, he does want to yell at someone. He wants to yell at Joe. Joe, who looks like that, while Nicky is covered in flour, hair askew, and his chef whites stained and wrinkled. Joe even has a cluster of tiny pink flowers tucked behind one ear. Nicky wants to shake him. No, Nicky is going to crush his stupid, handsome, dimpled face with his bare hands.

“You look beautiful,” Joe says, as Nicky marches determinedly towards him. As if he read Nicky’s mind, and is attempting to circumvent his own untimely and tragic demise. He punctuates this by helpfully trying to flatten Nicky’s cowlick. 

“What are you doing here?” Nicky’s instantly mollified by the touch. He leans into it, eyes fluttering close, enjoying the feel of Joe’s clever fingers in his hair.

“I’m being distracting.” Nicky snaps open one eye. Joe’s trying very hard to not look smug, Nicky will give him that.

“You are.”

Joe smiles, like Nicky had said something complimentary. He leans in closer and whispers, “Do you care if I kiss you right now, in front of everyone you know?” 

Nicky blinks, confused. He slowly looks around.

“You brought our friends?”

“They followed me,” Joe laments.

“He asked us for your hand, like we were your parents.” Quynh says proudly.

“I did not!” Joe retorts. “I asked them if you liked flowers and if so, what kind.”

“It was the way you asked it. So earnest, so sincere. Your eyes were shaped like hearts and I could see tears glistening in them,” Quynh says, while Joe continues to protest. She ignores him, turning to clutch Andy’s shoulder. “Oh, my love. Our little Nicky, all grown up.”

“We demand a dowry,” Andy says.

Nicky rolls his eyes, then looks at Nile, standing next to them. She is - honest to god - eating popcorn. “Um. Booker texted me?” Beside her, Booker lifts his flask and winks. 

Nicky looks back at Joe.

“Obviously I told Booker,” Joe says, like it is obvious and Nicky should know better. Really, Nicky should have seen all of this coming. “I’m making a grand gesture, I need my best friend behind me.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“I am romantic.” Joe corrects. “It’s incurable,” he adds gravely.

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

Joe does. 

They laugh against each other when they hear a cheer erupt around them. Nicky tucks his face against Joe’s neck and thinks that it sounds louder than four exuberant voices. He peeks over his shoulder and sees all his colleagues gathered behind him, hooting and hollering, and won’t _that_ be a fun time when he’s back in the bakery on Tuesday.

“To the most patient man in the world.” Joe whispers against his jaw, pressing the bouquet into Nicky’s hands. It has survived, admirably, considering it was crushed between their chests. “No-one else would have put up with my shit.”

Nicky feels giddy and light-headed, like the first time he was in Joe’s arms. He can only be honest when he says, eyes bright, “you are worth it.”

Joe kisses him again.


End file.
